


Gonna Patch You UP Sammy, Be Good as New

by Dolavine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolavine/pseuds/Dolavine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean patches Sam up after a near deadly battle with a Wendigo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna Patch You UP Sammy, Be Good as New

**Author's Note:**

> Written for badbastion for one of her Birthdays. Happy birthday. Based on her art taking [care of Sammy.](http://badbastion.livejournal.com/27857.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://photobucket.com/)  
> 

Dean’s pulling Sam’s limp, seemingly lifeless body from the back seat of the Impala. “It’s gonna be alright Sammy, I’m here Sammy, I’m gonna patch you right up, you’ll see, good as new,” he keeps repeating as he drags him into the motel room. A small trail of blood streaks the white cement of the portico walkway from the car to the door.

He hauls Sam up but he can’t get him on the bed, he’s too limp, too out of it. Sam makes a low moan and he says Dean’s name. “Dean,” it’s weak, his eyes are barely slits and his head won’t stay up unless it’s propped up by Dean’s arm. Dean’s smoothing Sam’s blood streaked hair, his fingers already painted red by the seeping wounds from various places on Sam’s body.

“Just stay here,” Dean says as he tries to make Sam comfortable by putting a pillow under his head before rushing out to the car to get the army medical kit. “I’m back,” he says sitting down next to Sam and opening the box. Sam groans and shifts a little; his eyes drift over to Dean. “Oh, God, it hurts,” he moans out before coughing so hard he could bring up a lung. A trickle of blood and saliva run down his chin, his teeth painted red by the burst from the cough. “Can’t” he mumbles through another cough.

Dean opens his shirt and exposes the wounds on his chest and stomach, his side’s been clawed open by the giant Alpha Wendigo they encountered and he’s sure that there are broken ribs and other bones due to the severe slamming his body took when he was hurled several times into trees by the monstrous creature. Dean runs his fingers over the slashes and Sam winces. “Shit,” he breathes out with a hiss. “I’ve got you Sam,” Dean tries to console him with words. He opens the medic kit and pulls out the antiseptic bottle; he tears off a corner of the sheet and pours it on the cloth. He doesn’t want to do it because he knows its going to hurt like hell but it needs done so he starts cleaning the wounds. 

The red blood stains crimson on the white cotton as he wipes over the claw marks. Sam’s moaning and balling his hands into fists as he takes the pain. “Shhh, I’ll be done soon,” Dean’s words are tender as he goes about cleaning it out. 

“God,” Sam calls out and he weakly grabs Dean’s arm. “Fucking hurts,” his words are quiet and weak, like he couldn’t muster a scream if he had to. “Whiskey?” he asks, his fingers gripping as tight as they are able to Dean’s elbow. 

Scrambling through his pockets Dean finds his flask. He tries to sit Sam up and Sam protests, his body falling helplessly to the side every time. Dean climbs behind him and rests against the bed; he pulls Sam up and drapes his body over himself, holding him up. He puts the flask to Sam’s lips and Sam thankfully swallows a few big gulps. 

The taste of blood and whisky are strong on his tongue and he coughs. “Am I gonna make it?” he lulls his head back on Dean’s shoulder. Dean hesitates for a moment and Sam closes his eyes. “Don’t feel like I’m going to make it,” his voice is only a whisper. 

“Gonna patch you up good as new, you’ll see,” Dean slides the kit close and pulls out the bandages and the suture kit. “Just need to stitch you up lil bro,” he’s threading the needle with an unsteady hand. His mind is moving faster than his body can and he’s ignoring his own injuries to take care of Sam. 

It wasn’t like killing the wendigo left him unscathed. When he saw Sam lying lifeless against a tree, he wasn’t going to let that bastard live and despite the brutal pounding, body to tree slams he took, he still got up and finished the thing off, just so he could save Sam. The very thing he can’t live without, it was either save Sam or go down trying, no other choices because he’s, his Sammy.

Finally the thread slips through the tiny eyelet and Dean’s bloody fingers even it out. The light in the room is low and he’s working from behind Sam but he can do this. He takes a deep breath and squeezes the slicing wound together. Sam winces and takes another swig of whiskey. Blood oozes from the wound and Dean slips the needle through the pinched flesh. “First one is the worst Sammy, it will get easier from here,” he says as he makes thin black X’s across the flesh strip. 

His fingers are shaking as he continues to sew Sam shut. This isn’t the first time he’s patched him up but then again, it’s the first time he’s patched him up when he’s hanging on by sheer will. He ties the suture off with a tiny knot and cuts the thread. His hands fumble to open the white cotton bandages from their sterile paper wrapper. He notices for the first time how bloody his fingers are and he wipes them across his jeans before returning to his work. He places the square swatch of cotton gauze over the newly repaired wound and secures it with tape. Sam’s half passed out from pain and exhaustion, his hand still clutching the silver flask as Dean readjusts him to get at the claw marks on his side. 

“I love you,” Sam says as he looks up into Dean’s face. Dean gives a half hearted smile. “No, Dean, I love you,” he reiterates.

“I know,” Dean can’t get the needle threaded this time, his fingers feel thick and numb as he tries to line up the thin thread.

“I needed to say it, let you know how I feel,” Sam’s hand finds it way to Dean’s thigh and squeezes weakly, his compensation for a real hug. Dean closes his eyes at the feeling.

“You’re going to be fine,” he can’t bring himself to tell Sam that he loves him, he knows rationally it’s ridiculous but if he says it, it might be the thing that lets him give up hope. He needs to focus and finish fixing Sam up, not be sappy like it’s the death scene in a sad chick flick. He closes his eyes and focuses, the thread slides through the eyelet and he’s back in business. 

“Just need you to know,” Sam says as he slips out of consciousness, the flask falling away from his hand, and his fingers losing their grip on Dean’s thigh. 

“Hang on Sammy,” Dean’s words are panicked, he’s sewing up one of the first slashes, there is a lot of blood and it’s deeper than the chest wound but he gets the job done, moves on to the second and third without fail. 

When he finishes, his hands are covered in thick drying blood and Sam’s still out of it. He gently slips his arms around his waist, holds him as snug as possible and rests his head on Sam’s shoulder. “Always love you,” he whispers in Sam’s ear.

The sound of Sam moaning wakes Dean up. “Dean,” he says quietly, his mouth thick with dried blood, his lips almost sealed shut with it. 

“What Sammy,” he says sleepily, his body numb from holding Sam up all night, holding him close, his arms never moving away from the tight hold he has around his brother, tethering him here, not letting him slip away. 

“I’m thirsty,” his words sound like a sick child asking for water, they are weak and broken, his dry mouth making the words sound thick like his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and it is.

“Sure thing,” he smiles with relief, shifts Sam off of himself and goes to get the water. When he comes back Sam’s pulled himself up onto the bed, his bloody bandages fully exposed and Dean is a little shocked at all of the blood. “Here,” he says sitting down on the bed and lifting Sam’s head to tilt the water glass between his lips. The water tinges pink when it touches the blood like he’s mixing water colors; Sam takes a sip and hisses when it hits the scabbing over cut under his upper lip. 

Dean pulls back quickly and Sam smiles a weak grin. “Always taking care of me,” he says fondly. His eyes so swollen they look like prize fighters eyes, blushed blue and red and he can barely open them.

“Who else is going to do it?” he smiles, his thumb smoothing over Sam’s brow. “Got to keep you safe, all parts in working order,” he leans in and kisses Sam’s bruised and bloody forehead, the tinge of copper stinging his lips.

“Good,” Sam leans into Dean’s body searching for the warmth, his sore body needy and aching for Dean’s warm touch. “Stay with me,” he sounds like a child again and Dean can’t resist that innocent sound in his voice.

“Always,” he lies down beside him and pulls him close. He’s careful not to hold him too tight as he hears Sam groan at the jostling of the bed when he shifts into his body. “I’m always going to be right here Sammy,” he whispers into Sam’s neck as he gently spoons him. Sam gives a tiny smile before letting his body relax completely into Dean’s.

 

The End


End file.
